


Ten Years After

by Nary



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-06
Updated: 2011-05-06
Packaged: 2017-10-19 01:55:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/195593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sept was empty early in the morning, and the Lady of Tarth would often go there just past dawn to pray, or so the smallfolk said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ten Years After

The sept was empty early in the morning, and the Lady of Tarth would often go there just past dawn to pray, or so the smallfolk said. In truth, Brienne went to the sept for quiet, for she no longer knew who to pray to. At her age it no longer felt right to pray to the Maiden, even though strictly speaking she still was one. She was no child's mother, nor yet a crone, and she was no longer a warrior except in her dreams each night. Now she was a lady, in name if not in demeanour, and ladies did not go riding off on foolhardy quests for glory and honour. She had a responsibility to her people, and as much as she might feel tied down by it at times, she would not abandon them. But she could seize a few moments of peace before the demands of the day began, settling disputes between the smallfolk, distributing the grain rations, meting out justice to wrongdoers, and all the other duties of a ruling noblewoman. It was a good life, better than she had ever expected for herself, and she was contented with it, but she did appreciate the rare moments of solitude she was able to seize.

It was spring still, too soon for crops to have been harvested, even the early oats and barley and spring cabbage, and food was scarce everywhere. But on Tarth they were luckier than many, for the Sapphire Isle's waters gave them fish even during the worst of the winter, when the Straits were littered with chunks of ice bigger than the fishing boats. Few had starved among Brienne's folk, for which she gave thanks to whichever of the Seven might listen.

The breeze was brisk off the sea as she crossed the courtyard at dawn. Brienne wore her usual breeches and a man's linen shirt under her cloak, for she had never found a gown yet that suited her. Her straw-blonde hair had grown out long enough to braid, though there were always some strands that escaped around her face, no matter how her hard-working maids struggled to keep it neat and tidy.

Somewhere nearby, she could hear Ser Podrick shouting after the stableboys, ordering them about their early morning tasks. His voice was hoarse, as it had been ever since the noose in the outlaws' cavern. Her own had recovered, more or less, though it still cracked from time to time like a green lad's, and she would bear the scars, along with so many others, for the rest of her days. Still, she was always glad to hear Pod's voice, ragged though it was, for it reminded her of the things she'd done right. She had knighted him herself before the Battle of the Wall, and no one had dared gainsay her right to do so, so Ser Podrick he had been ever since.

Apart from the shouting and the clatter of hooves, there was also, unexpectedly, the sound of hobnailed boots on the stone floor of the sept. "I never took you for a septa, wench," said a voice, long-unheard but painfully familiar. Brienne could not turn to look at him, whether for shame or fear of what she would see or because of the sudden fluttering in her stomach, she did not know.

"That's as well, for I fear I've failed at most vows I've ever taken," she said quietly. Including the one to kill you, she thought, but could not bring herself to say aloud.

"Well then, I'm in good company here." Jaime's hand on her shoulder was like a blow - she could not remember the last time someone had touched her so gently. "Turn around, Maid of Tarth, let me look at you again."

"I fear I'm as beautiful as ever I was," she said, trying to put some lightness into her words so they did not sound too self-pitying or bitter. She had long since stopped being ashamed of her appearance, or thought she had, but perhaps that was just because she didn't care what anyone on Tarth thought of her looks. Now, suddenly, she found that concerns she thought she had put aside did matter to her, at least a little.

She kept her gaze downcast as he turned her around. His boots were scuffed and muddy, and she couldn't help but notice that the cloak around his shoulders was grey wool, not white. "Come now," he said, "I came all this way to see if your eyes were as blue as I remembered. The least you could do is oblige me by glancing in my direction for a moment."

So she looked up. He was more worn and weathered than she recalled, and thinner too. Silver strands mingled with the gold of his beard, but Jaime was still handsome enough to make her foolish heart quicken its pace. "Where have you been?" she heard herself ask, as though in a dream.

"Doing penance," he said, and she wasn't certain whether he was joking or not. "It took quite some time, or I'd have been here sooner."

"Your hand," she noticed suddenly. The gold one was gone, replaced by a simple wooden one, smoothed by years of use. Now that she was looking, she could see the lines of the straps that held it on beneath his shirt... Momentarily distracted by the thought of what lay beneath Jaime's shirt, she quickly turned her attention back to what he was saying.

"Yes, well, gold is so terribly impractical," he said dryly. "Showy, and catches the light nicely, but it's heavy, and it gets dinged and scratched on every little thing. Not to mention attracting bandits who assume a one-handed man is easy prey and a piece of gold as big as a fist would be a nice addition to their haul."

"I trust you always proved them wrong."

"Certainly, but it gets so tiresome. No, I prefer this one - simple, and it gets the job done as well as can be expected..."

"Jaime, what are you here for?" Brienne felt rude for interrupting, and a fool for asking in the first place, but she had to hear his answer.

"I thought I already told you. I came to see your eyes again. Is it possible they've gotten even bluer?"

Brienne felt a hot blush spread up her face, feeling as exposed under his steady gaze as a bride at a bedding. "They are the same as always."

"And you are as stubborn as always. Do you intend to fight me on every matter, or just when I try to pay you a compliment?"

"Does that mean you wish to stay?"

"If you have room in your household for a handless, landless knight."

"Does scandalous rhyme well enough to be added to the list?" she asked, a hesitant smile playing about her lips.

He laughed. "Certainly, if you want to be poetic about it, but I don't intend to cause any scandals on your peaceful island."

"No?"

"No." He took her hands between both of his, the wooden and the flesh alike, and his face, when he looked up at her, was unusually serious. "You asked me why I came here, and I found I was suddenly too nervous to answer. I've faced armies and dragonfire and my own family, but you... you made me nervous. Feel free to tell me I'm being an idiot."

She could not reply, but only shook her head.

Jaime took a deep breath. "The truth is, I came to marry you, Brienne. If you'll have me."

"Marry?" She knew she must have sounded as ridiculous as she felt, but she couldn't think of anything else but to repeat his own words back to him. "You came to marry me?" A laugh escaped her lips unbidden, and she saw his face fall.

"Ah well, I wondered if this was a fool's errand. I'm glad to have seen those eyes again, if nothing more." He bowed to her, courtly as ever despite his humble garb. "Thank you for your time, my lady." He turned to leave as suddenly as he'd arrived.

"Jaime, wait..." She strode after him, catching him by the arm with a boldness she hadn't known she possessed until that moment. "Don't go, please. I didn't mean... I just didn't know what to say..."

"The expected response is 'yes', I think, though I admit I'm anything but an expert when it comes to matters of marriage."

"Yes, then." She could not have said, later, which of them moved first, only that they ended in one another's arms, their lips meeting without any of the awkwardness she might have expected. It felt strangely, improbably, right.

"So, shall we call for the septon?" he asked when they finally drew apart, each a little breathless.

"Right now?"

"Brienne," he said, and her own name had never sounded half so beautiful to her as it did on his lips, "if we are not married today, then I greatly fear you will not be a maid on your wedding night."

She couldn't help but laugh at that. "We have waited this long, we can wait another few days. Or, if it turns out we cannot, well, many brides wear a maiden's cloak in name only - it would not be the worst thing in the world. At least give me time to let my household know. They may want to put up some banners, bring in a few flowers..."

"Very well," he said with a feigned sigh. "Oh, do you still have the sword?"

The question came at her from out of the blue. She had not been able to look at Oathkeeper since Stoneheart and everything that followed from that fateful encounter, for it reminded her of all her worst failures. "It's in the armory," she said softly. "If you want it back, of course you may..."

"Don't be ridiculous. I gave it to you, and you shall always be the one to wield it."

"I have little cause these days," she said, her words tinged with regret.

"Oh, come - I can tell you haven't forgotten how, you feel strong as ever." His good hand stroked languorously down her sword-arm, making her shiver. "You could probably thrash me, at any rate. And it's a good thing, too."

"Why, do you need a thrashing?" she asked, shocking herself into nervous laughter.

"No doubt some would say so," he replied with a grin. "But that wasn't what I had in mind. For some inexplicable reason, there are still a few noblemen out there who consider me - me! - suitable to train their sons. But for the practical side of things, I think you'd be far more capable than I am."

"They'll laugh..."

"So? Let them laugh, and then show them how the Lady of Tarth earned her right to be known as one of the greatest warriors of her day. A few welts and bruises take the lip off a new squire quite nicely, as I recall."

Brienne considered this for a long moment, imagining Evenfall Hall filled with the voices of young squires, lively and boisterous. Her eyes found themselves resting on the statues of the Mother and the Maiden, the Warrior and the Smith, and she knew what her answer would be. "I'll do it," she said at last, "but on one condition."

"Name it," he said.

"That we train any of their daughters who want to learn as well."

"If it produces more ladies like you, then I would have it no other way," he said, squeezing her hand as they walked out of the sept together, into the bright sunlight of a spring morning.


End file.
